


The Crystal Closet

by VictoriaAGrey



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Coming Out, First Kiss, Flirting, Friends to Lovers, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-20 13:03:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11921484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VictoriaAGrey/pseuds/VictoriaAGrey
Summary: Wilson starts acting oddly towards House and House wants to know why. When he gets his answer, it makes matters infinitely more complicated.





	The Crystal Closet

Cameron, Chase, and Foreman were discussing the merits of a potential new case, but House wasn't listening. He had his feet propped up on the table, cane twirling in his left hand as he squinted out the window with the conviction of a man who knew he'd been wronged, he just didn't know how quite yet. The background noise soon faded to a low rumble, then to nothing at all.

"I know I'm going to regret this, but," Chase mumbled under his breath, then said louder to get House's attention, "House, is something wrong?"

House's glare out the window intensified. "Wilson hasn't flirted with me in two weeks."

"No, absolutely not," Foreman exclaimed as he shook his head, his adamance catching House's attention enough for him to look away from the offending window. "No. I am not getting sucked into that black hole you loosely call a friendship with Wilson. No."

Happy he could return to his previous expression, House glared at Foreman. "The only thing loose about my friendship with Wilson _is_ Wilson."

Chase turned away to hide his chuckle and Cameron tried to look annoyed, but couldn't quite pull it off through her confusion. Foreman glared back.

"If you want to know what's wrong, go ask him. Don't sit around sulking about it when we have a job to do."

"I don't sulk. I brute, like a man."

"You do kind of sulk," Cameron chimed in, her attention back on the file in front of her.

He must really be in bad shape if he'd lost Cameron the Faithful Lovelorn Minion. Admitting defeat, but unwilling to show it, House stuck his tongue out at Foreman (because that never failed to piss him off for some reason) and returned his attention to the window.

The not flirting was the latest in a series of concerning changes in his best friend. He knew Wilson was still seeing a therapist and taking anti-depressants, but lately he seemed to be trying to distance himself from him and his general disposition had taken on a nervous edge. House would've found a way to confront Wilson sooner, but he'd had a case and the slippery bastard had gotten better at evading him. House wouldn't have even put it past him to slip the interesting case to Cuddy knowing she would slip it to him as a part of his campaign to Avoid House at All Costs. Wilson was _that_ manipulative.

House had devised and dismissed several plans to confront Wilson, the last of which involved setting off stink bombs in his office so he could oh-so-graciously grudgingly offer to share his office until the smell cleared, allotting him plenty of time to weaken Wilson's resolve until he cracked and spilled his secrets. The error in his plan was obvious: Wilson would know he was the one who rigged the stink bombs to blow because nobody else was insane enough to do something like that. He'd refuse to talk and would reclaim his old office in oncology for the interim just to spite House; hence, making it even more difficult to catch him. There was no two ways around it; he was stuck. Until Wilson decided to end the embargo, there was no move he could make that was guaranteed to work.

"House."

Speak of the devil. House turned his head and was surprised to note that his ducklings had scurried off at some point without him noticing. Maybe he was even more concerned about his Wilson problem than he thought.

"Wilson."

"You doing anything tonight? I, uh," he started, hesitating over his words. "I got something I need to talk to you about."

"Sure. Pizza?" House decided to hide his relief at Wilson coming to him first by being salty. "Your treat."

Wilson smiled indulgently. "Actually, I got reservations at Red Dive. 7 p.m."

After he nodded his assent, Wilson was quick to disappear again, leaving House to stare curiously at the spot he'd stood at in the conference room doorway. Wilson was always interesting, which made him an A+ person in House's book, but it also meant he was always frustrating. Whenever he wanted to talk about something personal, he always made sure they were alone; however, if he thought there was a chance of House not taking him seriously, he liked to spill the deets in a restaurant. It was weird. House's best guess was that it gave him an easy escape route that he could impede with various objects to prevent House from catching up if he decided to flee. That, or the public venue kept Wilson from jumping across the table and socking House in the face. Take your pick.

There was also the curious case of the reservation. Red Dive was an upscale steakhouse that served a porterhouse that made House weep, which is why Wilson had taken him there the past two years for his birthday. It also required two weeks notice for a reservation. That meant Wilson had made the reservation around the same time he had kicked the weirdness factor up a notch in their friendship, and that he was trying to get in House's favor. This night was important to Wilson, for whatever reason, and he was trying to accommodate House so he'd be as open to whatever he had to say as possible.

Like he said, interesting, but frustrating.

House couldn't recall the last time a work day had passed at a pace more similar to a turtle trying it's damnedest to win a race than the sands through an hourglass (yes, he was in the midst of a Days of Our Lives marathon; sue him). Wilson wasn't in the cafeteria for lunch, so he hung out with his next favorite person, Coma Guy. He fled to the park to avoid Cuddy trying to make him do clinic hours. Larry, Moe, and Curly were abandoned to their own whims, which would probably equal a few glares come Monday morning. None of it mattered though. He had Wilson things to think about.

Come 7:05 p.m. - which for him, was the equivalent of being early - House was practically crawling up the walls and, judging by Wilson's fidgeting, he was, too. He took his seat across from Wilson at their corner booth and smirked at the beer already waiting for him. They placed their orders with the waiter and started up a round of one of their favorite restaurant games, Most Likely to Croak During Dessert. The meal went by pleasantly, normally, and it nearly lulled House into a false sense of calm, which is probably what the manipulative little shit had planned. It was when their slice of chocolate cake was set between them that Wilson deigned to finally get around to the purpose of the dinner.

"So, I have something I need to tell you."

"This was all a ploy to get into my pants," House quipped easily around a mouthful of cake. "At least you were a gentleman and bought me dinner first."

Usually, Wilson would give him a withering look or, better yet, throw a flirtatious volley back. Usually. But, like had become the norm over the past two weeks, Wilson didn't flirt back. Most startlingly though, he confirmed one of House's theories about restaurant confessions and started to scoot out of the booth to leave. It seemed House had drastically underestimated how important this conversation was to Wilson because he was never this touchy.

"You've probably stolen a credit card or two of mine. Use one of them to pay. You already know how to forge my signature."

Much like all of Wilson's low blows, his remark was meant to disarm House on one subject long enough to distract him into picking up arms for another. Under any other circumstances, House probably would've fallen for it, too, because the Tritter chapter of his life still stung like a bitch, but not that night. He was done with the avoidance game Wilson had been playing.

Quickly reaching across the table, he clamped his hand around Wilson's forearm to stop him from leaving. The sudden movement rocked the table, the sound attracting the attention of a few patrons seated near them, but House didn't care.

"You either sit back down or you're dragging my crippled ass out of here right along with you. I can practically hear the spousal abuse calls being placed as we speak."

Despite the last line, Wilson heard the threat in his voice and scooted so he was seated across from him again. A minute of silence passed, House contemplating making Wilson work for his cooperation, but decided against it. He'd gotten them into the silence, he could get them out.

"I've been practicing a new trick. It's called Not Being an Asshole for Five Minutes. I'm getting pretty good at it, if you'd like to see. Exciting stuff."

Wilson smiled. It was small, but it was real. "I thought old dogs couldn't learn new tricks."

"Please, I'm only six or seven dog years old. I'm practically still a pup."

Wilson seemed to accept his apology for what it was. He started to get twitchy again, hand running along the back of his neck more roughly than usual and his face twisted into a grimace when it looked like he was going to finally talk. He went through the motions a few more times before he tried again.

"I've been seeing a therapist. Same one that I saw after my divorce from Julie."

House wanted to say something along the lines of _'you mean the one who was unwittingly helping you drug me?'_ but he resisted the urge. He couldn't risk Wilson taking off again. He would rather avoid getting dragged out of a restaurant, if at all possible.

"I've been trying to work out why none of my marriages work, why I cheat, that kind of stuff." He started absently tracing the patterns in the wood of the tabletop with his forefinger. "I always knew the answer, but I wasn't willing to accept it."

The supernatural was something House never subscribed to, but he felt his chest clinch with the absolute certainty that the next words out of Wilson's mouth would irrevocably change their lives. He hated change, hated it, but that didn't mean he didn't recognize when it was happening.

"I - I wasn't getting what I needed - wanted and it made me flighty. Constantly searching for a new high so I'd forget that I never really got off the ground. I wanted what I thought I shouldn't have, so I chased after everything I thought I should. But I can't do that anymore. I'm tired and I'm tired of lying to myself and everyone else." Wilson looked up then, vulnerable but not shaky in his resolve. "House, I'm gay and I need your support."

House felt his eyes widen with the first shot of pure shock he'd felt in a long time. Fucking Wilson. Fucking Wilson and his ability to keep him on his toes. He'd long since considered him an unquantifiable data point in the matrix, but sometimes he was so unpredictable that he threw House so far through a loop he didn't know where he'd started in the first place or where he ended up. Just when he thought he was starting to understand the way Wilson ticked better, he'd do or say something so incongruous with the picture he was painting of him that he'd have to burn that canvas and start over again.

Gay. Wilson was _gay_ and he had no idea. He would've expected Wilson to say he was running away with an ex-spy named Gertrude to open an orphanage at the top of Everest before he said he was gay with any trace of seriousness.

House buried himself in the shock, focused on it because if he didn't, he was prone to jump on Wilson's ass for implying there was even a shred of a chance that he wouldn't support him. He was a world class dick, but he would _never_ abandon his best friend when he needed him most. Not to mention the frankly astronomical amounts of hypocritical the move would be on multiple fronts.

"You never said anything," he said after he collected himself. The shock was still in his tone, but he was composed enough to talk. "You've never even had sex with a man."

Wilson blushed and looked around to make sure no one was listening. "Being a teenager in the 80's will do that to you."

House gave him that one. It was a terrifying time indeed for men who landed anywhere on the Kinsey scale except for 0, and in Wilson's case, a young teenager trying to figure out who he was and being inundated with images and reports saying that one of the things he was considering was bad bad bad. House had seen pictures of Wilson when he was a teenager. His heart ached for the kid in those images and for the thirty-six year old man sitting across from him who was still trying to figure out who he was.

"Does this mean we can start flirting again?"

Wilson looked confused, but in an amused way. "What?"

"I'm guessing this little reveal is why you haven't been flirting with me for a few weeks. Cameron would flirt with me, but she would think I was being serious. Chase gets too flustered and even I don't have the balls to flirt with Foreman," he explained, his logic totally sound. "He'd murder me and Cuddy would alibi him. Also another person who won't flirt with me. I need to flirt, Wilson."

Joking tone aside, House looked at Wilson seriously, telling him in the best way he knew how that he had his support. It took a moment to sink in, but when it did, Wilson smiled and laughed, relief coloring his tone. His body released the tension that had been holding him tightly for weeks and he looked at House, affection for him plainly displayed in a way that he rarely allowed to show through.

House picked up his fork and dipped it into the thick chocolate cake, scooping up the bite and leaning across the table to put it squarely in Wilson's personal space. "You have a lot of flirting to make up for. It's either this, or you grab my ass on the way to the car. I'm leaning towards the ass grab personally, but I'm all about giving multiple options."

"What, no choice of a knee grope in the car on the way home?"

"That would've been my third option, but we inconveniently drove here separately."

Wilson shook his head in amused exasperation, quiet laughter making his chest shake. With a shrug, he plastered on a heated expression, which House would be lying if he said it didn't do anything for him, and slowly took the bite off the fork. House smirked at the show and dug back into the cake. They finished it before long and declared a truce in Most Likely to Croak During Dessert since neither of their choices bit the dust.

Wilson paid the bill.

House grabbed Wilson's ass on the way to his car.

~~~

Because Wilson was certifiably batshit, even though House was _still_ the only person who recognized it, Wilson came out by fucking the new radiologist. 

Rumors spread like wildfire that Wilson was playing both sides of the field when he was caught flirting with the openly gay radiologist, and those rumors became facts when said radiologist blabbed to a PA in rheumatology that he'd taken Wilson home one night after work. House had been furious at first, thinking Wilson was just trying to test the waters and the douchecanoe had outed him before he was ready, but when he mentioned the rumors to him, he smirked the devious little smirk he had when his evil little plans worked. He'd _planned_ it that way.

Yeah, anybody who thought Wilson was the sane one between them was as batshit as he was. Not Wilson, he was in a class of his own, but him, House, for being friends with someone so fucking off the reservation that they thought fucking a colleague was a good way of coming out.

The Panty Peeler of Princeton was back in force and it was the boys turn this time around. Over the course of a couple months, Wilson went through the radiologist, a nurse in cardiology, a surgeon, and Cuddy's new assistant. House revised his assessment of Wilson after that last one: he was a _suicidal_ batshit slut with balls of titanium. House would normally say Cuddy reamed him a new one, but saying that in regards to a massive slutbutt like Wilson, he would have to add an addendum saying Wilson had found a way to put that new hole to use, so he settled on saying Cuddy yelled him into a corner about touching her precious assistant. 

House used to find Wilson's slutty ways vaguely amusing when he was working his way through the nurses, various one night stands, and mistresses, but now he was disquieted in a way that made it difficult to find amusement in any of Wilson's dalliances. He respected the way he threw himself in head first, no hesitation in exploring his sexuality after decades of denying it, but there was something... off about it. It was like watching a drug addict find their drug of choice; they binged on it until they hit some sort of wall and abruptly fell down from the clouds. House was bracing himself for the inevitable because he knew that whenever it happened, Wilson would fall hard and he would go running where he always did when he was down, i.e. his couch.

It took about six months, but come a-running Wilson did.

There was a storm outside and House watched it for a bit through the windows, absently plucking out the notes to Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata; a move so horribly cliche he thought about smacking his own hand in reprimand. To stop himself from falling deeper into the abyss of the hackneyed, he decided to check in early. He went to the bathroom, brushed his teeth, popped his pre-sleep dose of Vicodin, and jumped into bed. The Vicodin had just hit when he heard the telling sound of a key turning in the lock. Only one person was brazen enough to use a key to enter his domain without permission. Actually, there was only one other person who had a key, period.

Grabbing his cane, House made his way to the bedroom doorway to quietly observe his friend. Wilson stripped off his coat and threw it on the back of the couch, a sure sign that he was drained because he always hung it up in the closet if he was staying the night; which he was obviously doing because he was taking care to be as silent as possible, obviously having deduced that House had gone to bed. House heard him plop himself down on the couch and sigh loudly. That level of Done was not common in Wilson, so House decided to bite the bullet and see what was wrong.

"I see you've hit that magical point of sluttiness already," House quipped, smirking at Wilson's jerk of surprise when he rounded the corner of the couch. "You've fucked half the men in Princeton and now the other half are refusing to fuck you on principle. That's impressive. It took you six years to get there with the ladies."

"I have not fucked half the population of Princeton," Wilson responded with a half-hearted eye roll.

"Fine. If you want to get into technicalities, half the women and half the gays. That puts you at at least 30% of the population. And you did all that without a threesome, too. A feat to be commended for sure."

House walked into the kitchen to get Wilson a beer, because if he ever looked like he needed one it was now, but he was stopped short when Wilson dropped a bombshell.

"I've been seeing someone," Wilson said, his voice sullen. "He asked me to commit tonight."

Wilson, always a veritable whirling dervish of surprises, yet again managed to knock House off his axis. Wilson had always been atrocious at hiding relationships and now he was admitting that he had not only hid a budding relationship, but that it had turned serious, all without House knowing one had started in the first place. This whole Wilson being gay business was proving that House was either completely off his game, or that Wilson had upped his. He figured the best case scenario was that it was a mixture of both.

"Is this the part where you tell me to get my tux pressed? Because if it is, I gotta warn you, I've already worn it my allotted once a year at that donor thing last month."

"I told him no."

House gave up on doing anything involving the fridge aside from leaning on it because Wilson was, yet again, defying the norm. Wilson _always_ committed. He was a commitment junkie, lived to make someone his even though he tended to be unfaithful after awhile. There was something going on here that House wasn't seeing, he knew that, but he couldn't say what it was. Wilson should be over the moon with having reeled in another one and yet he looked and sounded more like he'd come from a funeral that didn't deserve the 'fun' part of its name.

"Was he not needy enough for you? I know being strong and independent is a deal breaker for you," he said, trying to pull Wilson into a fight so he'd stop looking like a kicked puppy.

Wilson shook his head. "My therapist believes that I cheated on my wives and girlfriends because I wasn't getting what a truly wanted and that I'll continue to cheat unless I go after what I want - who I want. I knew I'd cheat on him. I respected him enough to walk away before I did so."

"I can't decide if you being so self-aware is a good thing or a bad thing."

"Definitely bad," he answered, standing from the couch and walking to stand in front of House, very nearly invading his personal space. For anybody else, they would be invading his personal space, but Wilson was the exception to the rule, like he was in most other things. "Because it means there's another risk to take, and I'm going to take it."

House blinked when Wilson's hand came to rest on his cheek, his heart beat rising in response to the touch and gentle glide as his fingers threaded through his hair. Wilson moved the final few inches into his space and seemed to hesitate for an instant before he leaned in and kissed him.

Saying House hadn't thought about kissing Wilson would be a lie. He had thought about it, on and off again throughout the years they'd known each other, but never had he dared to take steps to make it actually happen. Wilson was squarely off limits. First, because he'd been with Stacy when he first thought about it; second, because Wilson was straight as far as he knew at the time; and third, because he couldn't afford to lose him. If something went wrong and he lost him, he didn't know what he'd do. He needed Wilson, as much as he needed air to breathe, and he was in-tune enough with himself to know he'd go off the rails without Wilson keeping him on them. When everything was said and done, House knew he could afford to lose everything but him.

He loved him too much to ever risk saying goodbye.

But that didn't mean he wasn't going to enjoy the experience that unexpectedly presented itself for a bit. He kissed Wilson back, opening his mouth when Wilson nipped his lip for permission to deepen the kiss. The sensation of exploring each other's mouth was delightful and House felt the familiar tendrils of arousal coil down his spine. As the kiss became more insistent, he let Wilson press his back into the fridge door, the cool temperature of the stainless steel making it startling clear how much his own body temperature had risen. It was only when he felt one of Wilson's hands trail down his waist that he realized that the simple kiss he had intended to indulge in for only a minute was rapidly turning into something they couldn't recover from. He had a self-destructive streak a mile wide, but even he had his limits. House stopped Wilson's hand just before it got to where it was headed and broke the kiss.

"I can't -," he started, forced to stop to catch his breath. "I can't do this."

Wilson's breaths were ghosting over his face as he recovered, his face expressing hurt. "What are you talking about? You - you didn't enjoy that? Because there's evidence to the contrary."

There was a lot of evidence to show they both enjoyed it, but House couldn't get caught up in their usual banter.

"I can't just be another lay for you. I won't let myself amount to only another stop in your pursuit of happiness."

"You're not. You're... House, you're it," Wilson insisted, his brown eyes imploring House to believe him. "I want you, always have. I chased after women who were nothing like you in order to forget I wanted you. I cheated because the high of finding them always wore off. Coming out was freeing, but it was also... it was also awful. None of those men were you. It was almost worse." Wilson laughed, but it was self-deprecating and not really amused. "The way my therapist made me admit I was gay was by first getting me to admit I was in love with you. The rest came after. If you're just being, I don't know, kind and trying to let me down easy, don't. I can handle it. But don't pretend I just think of you as a pit stop. I wouldn't risk us for one night."

Hope was swelling in House's chest, but he had to be careful. He couldn't risk himself and their relationship for something that could be fleeting.

"But you'd risk us for more?"

"I have to know," Wilson admitted. "If you let me, I want to find out. I have to know if we could work because I think we could. This has killed me for years, House. I have to know."

House mulled that over. There was so much promise in his words, but Wilson could spin a pretty story, only to unravel it later. It made him interesting, it made him manipulative, and it also made him dangerous. No matter what way House looked at it, Wilson was the risk of a lifetime.

"I won't tolerate you cheating," House said, his voice firm. Then, his voice taking on a more nervous quality, he looked down so he wasn't looking directly into Wilson's eyes and finished with, "I love you, but I can't do that. I won't forgive you if you do and I'll never let you forget it."

"I know, and I won't. I swear. I've been running from you for well over a decade and I'm tired. I'm so tired and I want to stop."

House inwardly cursed himself because, damn it, he believed him. He believed Wilson and his earnest eyes. Getting into a relationship with Wilson was like walking off a cliff and trusting Wilson to catch him at the bottom, based on only a promise and a sure expression. He was putting everything on the line. It would either be glorious, or end with one of them fleeing the country. House had always wanted to know if they'd work, but the mere desire had never been enough for him. Maybe the promise of a real commitment would work and the love they had for each other would be enough to see them through the rest.

Maybe he wouldn't end up alone after all.

"Okay."

Wilson's eyes lit up and he smiled the crooked smile that made him look so young House would swear he wasn't a man in his thirties.

"Really?"

"Really," he reaffirmed. Wilson leaned in to kiss him again and he returned the pressure before breaking it off once more. "But there is one thing."

"What's that?"

"I have no idea what I'm doing here," he confessed, waving a hand between them significantly. "So you're gonna have to show me the ropes. Who ever knew your slutty ways would come in use?"

Wilson rolled his eyes and looked exasperated, which was his usual expression around him. The sight of it reassured House. It made him think that maybe, just maybe, Wilson would catch him at the bottom of the cliff.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for your kudos, comments, critiques, angry banshee screams, or whatever you leave for me here or at my tumblr ***[mycroft-silently-judges-you](http://mycroft-silently-judges-you.tumblr.com)***


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